She FINALLY DID IT, people! ;) Just to let you know, I'm not going to post Chapter 2 until the 6th, to give people a chance to get here. :) After that, I'll go back to the every-other-day thing.
By the way- you can find the link to Ranimar's cover on my bio. If you're interested. :)
Enjoy it, guys! I'll talk to you later.
-Chloe (and body-guard Grimi-son-of-Grimy, just in case…:)
Title:
Ranîmär (Within Truth)By:
Chloe the elvish, angst-loving, enthusiast, also being the 3rd of the "Write Sisters" ;)Feedback:
Yes please! My email and feedback is always welcome.Rated:
PG-13 for angst, violence, angst, torture, and angst. :DSummery:
Aragorn and Legolas are back to the Halls of Thranduil. But upon arriving, they find that Mirkwood's king is not at all well, and Legolas is pulled into this struggle with a murder charge on his head. Will Thranduil die before Legolas can be cleared? Will Aragorn ever be completely healed? And what is the true story of Legolas' past that Edren has been hiding for so long? The struggle with Bengwiil continues.Spoilers:
For my other stories, of course, but other than that, I don't think so.Disclaimers:
Aragorn, Legolas, Thranduil, Mirkwood, Rivendelll and any other recognizable people or places are the sole property of JRR Tolkein, and I do NOT have permission to use them. I'm making absolutely no money off of this, and sure bet you wouldn't have guessed THAT . ;)NOTE:
You will NOT get this story a BIT unless you've read the other stories in this series:Istón, I know
Erfiér, Only Mortal
Néfredäl, Unafraid
Marks:
'dialog' marks an elvish translations. Example:Ranîmär
'within truth'
bold type
is for emphasis. (the starburst thing isn't working currently ;)Dedication:
To Sarah and Hannah; for pestering me to finish this. You can thank them for this post! ;)To Emily; for letting me bounce ideas off of her.
To Stephanie; Edren's biggest fan! LOL! :)
And finally, to ALL my readers: HANNON LE for sticking with me, and for bombarding me with emails demanding for a date. ;) I probably never would have finished this, if I hadn't known you guys were still interested. THANK YOU SO MUCH!
Ranî mä r
(Within Truth)
Chapter 1
Welcome Back
These were my memories
They were my own
This was the place where I
Thought I'd belong
You can't ask me to let go
There's too much I do and didn't know
You were my family
You were my home.
"Lost" , Chloe
Just a little longer…
the wind above the Mirkwood trees pleaded of the sky. Don't rain. Don't rain yet. But clouds do not often heed the pleadings of trees, and so raindrops fell softly down on their heads, speckling leaves with dark green, and patting the dirt with mud. It was but a light mist, but mist enough that it was made clear how far the storm clouds had been pushed; how long they'd been made to wait. Mist was but the beginning. They were not going to hold back their furry much longer.Legolas Greenleaf leaned back in his saddle and sighed audibly. "Did I not tell you Edren? That Eärendil leads even when it is covered?"
The elf that rode up beside him smiled slightly. "Did I deny it?"
Legolas laughed, and reined his horse around to call out to the elves behind him. "We are to the Halls once more, my friends!"
Aragorn urged Horthor to stand beside Legolas' horse, Lint. The Ranger's eyes scanned the structure that was protruding from the hillside carefully. "I am no elf, Legolas…but I can sense danger."
Legolas' eyes shifted to the Halls of his father as well. "As do I, Aragorn. Something is not well within those walls…" He sighed, rubbing his eyes with the index finger and thumb of his right hand. "And I fear it is my father that brings such trouble."
"Then we should be quick," Edren interjected, turning to call over his shoulder, "Daurrè! Nyarin! Make haste!" And he rode off towards the gates of the great halls.
Legolas did the same, feeling Aragorn in his wake, and knowing that Daurrè, and Nyarin (along with the wounded Fenan) would not be far behind. The five elves and human made for an interesting party as they finally reined their horses into the stables.
Legolas steered Lint into his stall, patting the horse's white mane as he dismounted. "Mae pant," he whispered kindly, and then left the horse to catch his rest. When he closed the stall's door behind him, he found Aragorn had also stowed his horse, as had Daurrè. Edren was just dismounting, but Nyarin was having trouble getting down with Fenan. With Daurr's assistance, however, they managed to get them both down.
"Nyarin and I shall take Fenan to Tirniel," Daurrè murmured to Edren. "Perhaps you should go and see to the king…I fear- I…" He shook his head and did not finish. Apparently, Legolas and Aragorn were not the only ones who could feel fear in the air.
As Nyarin and Daurrè supported Fenan to the Healer's, Edren, Legolas and Aragorn quickly went to the stairs leading to the king's room. Legolas was the first one to the top, panic rising steadily in his chest.
He'd found Edren and Daurrè unhurt. He'd save Aragorn even though he thought he had lost him. He'd conquered his fear of Bengwiil, if only temporarily, and now he was home, not only in one piece, but in one fairly unscathed piece. Except for the bruise in his shoulder where he'd dislocated it, all his injuries from the orcs that had captured him had been healed by his own elven blood.
Even as he'd ridden through Mirkwood, following the unseen light of Eärendil the whole way, though he had found worry in his mind, it had been worry for Aragorn. Worry that the human would not fully heal from the Bengwiil, or the injuries Mornaeg had given him. The cuts that had been reopened by the accursed orcs.
But had he once worried over his father? Sure, he'd been afraid about what Thranduil would do with the Bengwiil he now had in his possession, but wasn't that more for Aragorn and his own sake than his father's?
Guilt rose with the panic, as Legolas realized; he had done nothing to help his father. In fact, he'd barely even tried to. His own flesh and blood, and yet he'd put priority on Aragorn. A friend. Albeit, a very close friend, akin to a brother, even. But not a brother. A friend.
It is not as though my father has made any attempt to help me either,
something in his head whispered. While I was trying to protect our people from Bengwiil, he was burning it freely. While I attempted to save Aragorn's life, he was nearly took it. What has he done for me that I should feel guilty for not helping him?But what had Legolas done? Suffered through his hurt until he could bring Aragorn back to life. And then, he'd ridden off to rescue his other friends from themselves. He had not stayed to help Thranduil, he hadn't even informed him that he was leaving.
But it was his own decision to be that way, he ate the Bengwiil! No would could have made his decisions for him. I did what was needed to be done as far-
A memory stirred in Legolas' mind.
"Legolas, no one could have made Aragorn's decisions for him. You did what you felt needed to be done, as far as his wishes went."
Edren's words echoed in his head as his own response surfaced in memory.
"But they weren't his wishes! I, who have experienced the full horror of Bengwiil should have realized that he was not speaking through his own lips. He was speaking through his Bengwiil-infected mind."
It was no different with Thranduil.
Legolas knelt down, pulling the rectangle-shaped piece out of the wall, and jerking the silver key that hung behind it. He shoved the key into the lock. It didn't fit. He shook himself slightly, trying to calm down. His hand was shaking so hard, he couldn't even get the key into the door! Luckily, the door turned out not to be locked, so stowing the key once more, and before Aragorn and Edren could join him, he'd stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.
It was dark, and the air was stuffy. The floor was covered in scorch-marks, and there were ashes of burnt Bengwiil as well as what was left of a burlap sack whispering over the floor on still air. The sound of thunder thudded against the window from whence there was coming little light.
"Father?" Legolas heard his voice, but knew before the word left his mouth there would be no response. Even in dim light, it was clear Thranduil was not here. But if he wasn't here- where was he?
"Somewhere safe."
Legolas was surprised by the silent whisper. "Somewhere to get away. To get away from pain. He's down there, Legolas…he's down there."Legolas nodded, bewildered by what seemed like a memory that he fought to recall. Dropping to hands and knees, he crawled uncertainly beneath the king's great bed. There was barely two feet between the underside of the bed and the wood floor, but Legolas pulled himself along on his elbows, and went quickly towards what he knew would be there; a door handle.
He realized he was holding his breath. It was probably mostly due to having his stomach pressed against the hard floor, but Legolas knew somewhere deeper and wiser than what he thought on the surface…he was scared. What a foolish idea, it was only his father! And yet…he wrapped shaking fingers around the silver handle and waited.
Don't go down there…
the voice was small…frightened. He's not himself, Legolas, he really isn't."I have to…" The words slipped between parted lips freely. Legolas felt it was almost- his cue. The words just came naturally. Like in a dream where the words you're to speak are already written down somewhere, and you can't help but let them slide from your mouth, whether you meant to say them or not.
Legolas realized he was shaking now, and sweat tickled angrily at his neck. Something was wrong…very wrong…his hand tightened over the handle. His mind was searching for answers, but even more frightening…it was finding a few.
"He's dying…he's dying, Edren."
"He is…?"
"I have to go down, I have to."
"I…I go with you, Legolas."
"I know."
Legolas' jaw tightened in terror. From where did these voices come to haunt him? A dream? The past? He couldn't remember, and yet he couldn't forget. He'd heard these words before. A long…long time ago. His heart raced in fear, but ever did he hold fast to the trapdoor's handle, waiting for strength to come and let him lift it open.
"I have to." The same words surfaced to his lips again, but this time, it didn't mean whatever it had meant in that distant dream. This time, he was thinking clearer. He nodded. He wasn't talking out of his dream anymore, he was talking about the here and now once more. He had to find his father. He had to find Thranduil.
Nodding again, even more resolute this time, he jerked the door open, and with a loud creeeeeack the frustrated hinge relinquished its hidden prize, and allowed Legolas to slip in through its crack. The prince was surprised when he didn't fall, but rather found himself on his knees in soft earth, so shallow into the hole that he could have smacked his head on the underside of the bed, had the trapdoor not been leaning against his head instead.
Relieving his neck from the strain of the board resting against it, Legolas eased the trapdoor shut over top of him, and began to craw along the shallow tunnel on hands and knees. In the pale glow of his own skin, he could see a drop-off just ahead, and was prepared for it when it came. Unfortunately, it wasn't just a drop-off.
Legolas pressed his hands down on the incline, pulling himself forward, and fully expecting another stretch of tunnel before him, with a little more space between floor and ceiling. He was, however, surprised to find himself flying head over heals down a dirt staircase. The steps were small and shallow, and the stairs themselves didn't go far, but Legolas could feel every one of the tiny steps when he landed at the foot of them all, and scrambled warily to his knees.
A sound alerted his attention to a dark shape in the corner, just barely visible by the dying torch beside it as well as the being's natural glow. It was elf, of that Legolas was certain. His fingers snaked over his shoulder for one of his elven knives, but he had a feeling he wouldn't need it.
"Father?" he whispered through the gloom, the damp smell of earth beginning to nauseate him. He so hated underground places. "Father?" he repeated, reaching out for the shadowed being's shoulder, and turning him over slowly.
Large, silver-blue eyes met his own silver gaze as Legolas stared down at the one who'd been hiding in the corner. "Legolas…" the other whispered.
"Father, are you all right?" Legolas asked quietly, as Thranduil made his way into a sitting position. "What are you doing down here? Where is here?"
"Legolas, what are you doing down here?" Thranduil's voice was full to the brim with unhidden panic.
"I came to find you," Legolas responded easily, sheathing his knife. "I came to make sure you were all right."
"I'm fine, but you must go."
"Go?" Legolas shook his head.
"You must leave this place, Legolas! Get out of here, before you-"
"Father, please come with me. I know you are not well, not after the last encounter you and I had…and I know I haven't helped you much. But I mean to help you now. Will you allow me that?"
"I don't need help, hannon le," Thranduil dismissed with a slight cock of his head. "Please go."
"Father, I know you've been burning Bengwiil, I know you've been drinking wine. It does not matter- it doesn't. Just please, let me help you as I did not before?"
"Legolas-"
"Please tell me what is wrong."
Thranduil gritted his teeth, but seemed to do it more at himself than Legolas. "Very well. You want me to show you what is wrong?" The elfking reached for dying torch beside him. As his fingers wrapped around it, the flames ignited, reacting to the elven power in the hand that held it. And as the torch ignited, the whole room lit up.
Legolas stared wide-eyed at what he saw. Arrowhead-like leaves grew in little spurts all over the floor and ceiling. Vines of the plant stuck out in patches all along the walls as wekk, and the thickest of its clusters were in the corners, where it grew in practically bushels.
Legolas didn't dare to breath the word "Bengwiil" as he stood up as far as he could beneath the low ceiling, and backed towards the one place in the wall where there was nothing growing.
"I've been growing it, Legolas. Keeping it. Storing it. Right here, and for so long." The elfking's eyes were wide with an emotion Legolas could not identify, but it was close enough to insanity, that the prince found himself backing as far from the other elf as possible.
"Why?" The word barely left his throat.
"One touch of this torch," the king explained tipping the fire closer to the cluster of poison-green plants, "and my worry is gone." His voice was eerily calm until now, but at once, his eyes widened, and he bellowed in a voice Legolas rarely heard, "Was I a madman?!"
He swung the torch in a wide arc, sweeping very close to the Bengwiil. Close enough that several leaves caught on fire, licking away at the flames hungrily, and curling against them in a dark shadowed curl.
Legolas knew his eyes were wide and his breathing shallow. Thranduil watched his son with equal fear, as he took in the prince's features. Something seemed to snap in him at seeing the frightened look on Legolas' face, and with a cry of anger, he attacked the green vines with his torch. Swinging it back and for and back and forth, it set patch after patch of Bengwiil ablaze.
"Father, what are you doing?!" It was all Legolas could think to say- nothing was making sense! It was all random speech and unexplainable action.
But Thranduil did not listen, but attacked the pointed leaves ferociously with the torch.
The sight of Bengwiil burning all around him in a closed space made Legolas suddenly claustrophobic. Panic rose in his chest, and he leaned back from the flames against the wall behind him. But at once, he realized why there had been no Bengwiil growing there. It wasn't a wall at all.
A cry of surprise slipped unnoticed to his ears through the dirt room as Legolas fell back into the underground opening, and he found himself sliding backwards down a dirt slide. His hands flew for something to hold on to, but he only caught loose dirt in the attempt.
With a thud he felt his head strike grass. Pulling his feet out of the hole he was lying halfway into, he got to his hands and knees, and turned to look at his exit, still shaking dizziness out of his head. It was a hole in the side of the hill. The hill that most of the Halls of Thranduil were built into. The hole wasn't big, only large enough for a normal-sized elf to slip through. In front of the hole was a net of brambles and branches. Though these cover-ups were now lying scattered where Legolas knelt, he could see that before they had covered the escape hole quite effectively.
Legolas was considering getting to his feet, when someone else came slipping through the hole and onto the mossy grass. Thranduil pushed himself to his hands and knees as well, crawling to where Legolas knelt. When he reached the prince, he sat back on his heals, and gripped Legolas by his shoulders, looking steadily into the young elf's silver eyes. His entire air was of panic. He didn't want Legolas to go until he heard whatever it was the king had to say. But it seemed as though Thranduil was afraid of scaring his son.
"Legolas," he panted. He was clearly out of breath. "I didn't mean to burn it. I didn't mean to. I was only- I hate it, Legolas. I hate Bengwiil, you were right, it is evil and I- never should have allowed it back."
Legolas must have looked ridiculous with his jaw hanging half open, but he didn't exactly care at this juncture. Everything was happening too fast. He'd reached home, just barely away from an already unbelievably draining experience in Mirkwood, and gone straight to his father. Just as he was sure things had reached an ultimate worse, when he saw Bengwiil growing in Thranduil's room, now his father was telling him he hated it! The words he wanted to hear out of the king for days, and now he didn't know how to hear it or handle it.
Thranduil seemed to take the look as simple disbelief. "I do not deceive you, Legolas. I do not. You must believe me, I hate all that Bengwiil has brought into Mirkwood; a shadow I allowed and indulged. You cannot know my grief as far as this matter, but you must believe my words now."
Legolas shook his head, feeling dizzy with the turn of events. But after a moment, he could have sworn he was smiling. "If I am silent, Father, it is not disbelief. Only that what my heart screams my mouth will not whisper." He closed his eyes with a sigh, and felt the king's hand loosen in relief on his shoulder. "I have waited long- and wondered often…"
"Istón." Thranduil let go of the other's shoulder entirely, slumping onto the ground in a sitting position, letting his legs sprawl out where they would. He seemed utterly exhausted, and yet had the air of one who felt they had finally done their duty. Like a soldier winning a war at a cost.
Legolas watched his father carefully, trying to comprehend what he'd just heard and spoken. But at once, what had been on Legolas' own heart came running back to his awareness, and his words were suddenly a flurry of thought. "Father, I am sorry I was not there for you. I am sorry I have not tried to help you, truly I am."
"Sh…" the king shook his head, still breathing heavily with unexplainable exhaustion. "Do not be sorry, for I have given you no cause to wish to help me. I have- that is, I was…i-it was folly to think I could keep Bengwiil peacefully…folly." Thranduil was now only propped up on his elbows, keeping his shoulders just barely off the ground, as he sprawled backwards.
"Father? Are you- are you well?" It was a silly question, and Legolas knew it, but somehow he could think of nothing else to ask, and it was blatantly clear that the king was not in fact well.
"No," the king answered truthfully. "No, I'm not well…Bengwiil burns, Legolas. It burns…it kills. It- it k-kills…where the roots do not reach down, and brooks flow the other way."
Legolas nodded automatically, and then shook his head. "What?"
"And…" Thrauduil's voice faltered slightly, as his eyes fixed on the sky, and his head titled back. "And valleys much greener than green can be followed. From that hill, and that hill, and on and on until they meet…the place…the place…the…" Thranduil's body seemed to convulse for a moment.
Legolas stumbled forward on his knees in a moment of bewildered panic, but the king froze just before he reached him, and he began to murmur again, this time a little louder. "The place where flowers grow and children run, and you are not their king. For ruler of them are skies and trees, and- oh, and…and the…th-the..."
"The leaves," came the empty reply. "H-hear them whisper."
"The leaves, you hear them whisper…Greenleaf," the king finished, and smiled as though he'd written the whole thing himself.
Legolas did not stir, but fixed pain-filled eyes on Thranduil. That was the song his mother had written him years and years ago…she used to sing it to him when Thranduil was away. Legoals wasn't even sure how his father knew the song…but it made his heart ache, and as childish as it was, it seemed almost like betrayal that he should know that song that Legolas' mother had written just for her son…but all sorts of emotions cloud a heart's eye, when it is weary.
And then, cry ripped from Thranduil's throat. A harsh, agonized cry. "Meltha! Legolas please- please, LEGOLAS!"
"What? What is it, what?" Legolas crouched beside his father, holding the king's shoulders firmly, and trying to force him to make eye contact.
But the prince had no need to force such contact, because Thranduil soon gripped him by the front of the tunic, pulling him down to his hands and knees, and bringing Legolas' face not inches from his own. "I don't want to see Meltha die again. Please- I don't want to see that again…please."
Ice seemed to cover Legolas' senses for a moment. Right here, right now, his greatest fear. It hurt Legolas somewhere deep to know that his father's greatest fear was something he could barely take part in. He remembered his mother's death, but just vaguely. He wished he could understand his father's hurt better, but he could not, so instead, he tried to comfort him with what he did know.
"Father, Bengwiil shows you what you fear the most. Do not fear, and it cannot harm you!"
"Take it away- Legolas, I don't want to see it again…I don't want to see."
"I cannot take it away," Legolas admitted softly. "Only you can. Ea néfredäl, father. It is the only way."
"Please…I cannot stop thinking about her- seeing her eyes close…s-she scares me so. I don't want to see her, Legolas, please." Legolas didn't move, his mind working furiously within him, doing its best to find an answer or a plan of action. Thranduil seemed to take this lack of response as refusal. "Please!" He cried, shaking his son's tunic front, causing Legolas' head to vibrate. "Please take it away, Legolas, please!"
"I can't!" Legolas responded frantically, trying to claw the king's hands off his shirt. His heart was beating faster in his ears, as memories of being thrown about and hurt by Thranduil in the king's own bedroom came as clear as day to his thoughts. He didn't fear physical pain, not in the least. But not at the hands of his father.
The king was panting as he pressed himself to the ground, allowing his head to smack the earth, and pulling Legolas down with him. The trouble was, he was sitting on the train of his cloak, and as he fell back onto the dirt, the cloak fell flat beneath him, but with his weight still on it, pulled tight across his throat. Thranuil started to gag and tear at the strings tied across the neck of his cloak.
"Be still!" Legolas cried. He was now lying on his father's chest, still held tight to the king's panting body. In this position, he couldn't get his father to sit up again, and therefore releasing the pressure on his neck. Leaning forward, his nimble fingers began to flip at the cloak strings. They were knotted. Quite tightly.
"Legolas! It is the Bengwiil! It burns, it freezes…it kills! Get it off, please!" Thranduil choked, clinging even tighter to his son's shirt.
"Be still!" Frustrated, Legolas tried to pull the king's grip off once more. "Father, let me go!" he cried frantically, still fighting against the unthinking elf's strength.
"Stop it! Stop it!" Thranduil's voice was getting groggy with fading oxygen as the strings bit into his windpipe.
"Release me!" Legolas pleaded, shaking madly at the king's strong hands. But Thranduil was in a different world. The world haunted by the side effects of Bengwiil. And as long as his mind stayed there, body would continue to hold as tightly to whatever was in the real world as if in a death grip.
There was nothing for it.
Legolas' hand snaked over his shoulder instead, unsheathing an elven knife. It was dangerous, but Thranduil was beginning to writhe on the ground, and Legolas feared what might happen if he did not cut the strings away. "Stay still!" he begged as calmly as he could, bringing the knife as close to the struggling king as he dared. Deciding there was no good getting so close to the throat, he moved instead to the base of the strings; closer to the cloak's fabric itself than the king wearing it. Carefully, expertly, his twisted the knife in towards the base of the cape strings.
It was instantaneous. SHWOO- the cut of an arrow echoed through the thick air, laboring towards its target. Legolas whirled about, gasping with the effort, for he dragged his clinging father with him, and snatched the arrow from the side before it found its mark in his shoulder.
He was about to look up towards the one who'd shot the arrow, when his father cried out, thrashing beneath his weight. Legolas looked back down to find his knife tipped in blood, and a slit running the length of Thranduil's left collarbone. His own fingers were already tinged in blood.
"Ai-mênu!" Legolas swore, sheathing his knife without wiping it off, and hurriedly tearing a piece of cloth from the king's cloak, pressuring the wound bitterly. "Forgive me, it was an accident," he whispered, feeling the excuse was slightly out of place, all things considered.
"Here! Over here, Garaer, quickly!"
Legolas' head snapped to the side, his eyes fixing on the elf who had fired at him. A younger elf, probably not much younger than Legolas, in fact. The prince was sure he recognized him, but couldn't think why. If he wasn't mistaken, the elf was one of Thranduil's many protectors.
Garaer ran headlong into the clearing, about a dozen elves in his wake. His eyes shifted over the scene before him without comment. For some reason, Legolas felt a cold chill go up his spine. Garaer; the elf that had assisted in the banishment Harain for standing up to Thranduil. The elf that had attempted to take Aragorn from him for good. He was every bit as cold as Legolas could recall, though not evil. Just too duty-oriented, it seemed.
At that moment, Legolas was painfully aware of how bad this looked. He had apposed his father several notable times within the last week or so, and twice come out of the king's bedroom bleeding. The sight of him poised over Thranduil's trembling body, trying to calm the blood flow at the king's neck; a wound made by his own knife…whatever Garaer was thinking at this moment, it could not be good.
Sure enough, it did not take the elven guard long to make a decision. "Ruim, go and find Tiriniel, bring him at once. The king is injured." A blonde-headed elf to his right nodded curtly, and took off towards the forest behind them. "Your highness," he began quietly. To Legolas' surprise, there was no maliciousness, no spite, but anger. Deep fury and astonishment. His voice was quite even and grave as he spoke next. "Rise off of our king slowly." The contingent of elves over his shoulder raised their strung bows as he spoke. "Very slowly."
Legolas rose carefully to his knees, still keeping his hand pressed firmly against the cloth which was preventing Thranduil's wound from further bleeding. The king's hands fell limply from his tunic front, too distracted by sudden pain to care about holding onto the prince. "Garaer, I know what you are thinking, and that it seems as wisdom to you. But there is much I must explain before you pass any judgment."
"Oh you shall explain, to be sure." The other nodded bluntly, and stepped forward, motioning to another elf over his shoulder. At the gesture, the elf moved quickly forward, and took over for Legolas holding down the cloth on the king's wound.
As Legolas pulled his hand from the bloodied cloth, the sound of quickly tightening bowstrings echoed in the air. He slid red-tinged hand defensively into the air where his other one already waited, proving he didn't have any intention of trying to get away.
Garaer stalked easily up to him, wandering around behind the prince's back, and planting a hand heavily on his shoulder. Reaching for the elf's quiver, he pulled from it one of the elven daggers that were sheathed there. Legolas soon saw the blood-tipped dagger sliding into view as Garaer shook the weapon under his nose wordlessly.
"It was an accident," Legolas promised quietly, knowing the words sounded lame. "I was startled when one of your number attempting to shoot me. I was trying to cut the strings of his cloak."
Silence.
"He thought he was choking…it was Bengwiil, he is ill with Bengwiil." he added quickly, but it was no use, and he knew it. "I did not mean to hurt him."
"Assault on the king is a great crime followed by great consequences, your highness, even when at the hands of Mirkwood's own prince." Garaer's tone was short a he shoved the bloodied knife back into the prince's quiver.
"And I shall not dispute that, Garaer," Legolas responded as evenly as he could, "but you do not have the authority to pass judgment on a member of the royal family, unless the king has passed his own."
"And so he shall, I assure you, as soon as we may heal him from the wounds you have inflicted. Until that time," Garaer, to Legolas' surprise, looked almost afraid as he spoke next. But as he stood there a moment, his eyes flickering from Legolas kneeling in front of him, to the king, moaning and twitching a few feet away, his features hardened, and all trace of regret was gone. "Prince Legolas Greenleaf, you are under arrest."
